The First Christmas
by ProcurerFaith
Summary: Respot: A month after Matt's untimely death in a car accident, TK 'celebrates' the first Christmas without his brother.


Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon. All Digimon characters are owned by Toei and A. Hongo and such. I am making no money from this fic. It is a just-for-fun project. The only bit I own is my own characters and the way the words are put together.

**Author's Note; 24th June 2008** – Please remember, edits may not quite appear as you remember them, as I'm hashing together the beta and the original uploads. I do not plan to come back and amend this work (if I start picking holes in it, I'll never stop XD)

_**The First Christmas**_

I open my eyes and stare blearily at the ceiling. I have vague recollections of candy canes and cinnamon for a moment, and then remember what day it is.

It's Christmas.

It's not going to be a good Christmas this year.

I'll try. For Mom, I'll try, but I'm not going to enjoy it.

Not without Matt.

I stay for a while, tucked up in my bed. For the first time in forever, there was no harmonica to lull me to sleep last night. Sure, I'm too old for it, and Matt used to laugh when I asked him, but…it became a tradition, and I loved it. I always loved to hear Matt play.

Normally by now, I'd be rushing down the stairs, wondering if this year I would beat Matt down. He'd have already been in to wake me up, smiling at the look on my face when I realise it's finally Christmas.

I don't feel like it this year.

I've got nobody to beat.

Mom's really pushed herself into Christmas. I think it's something to do for her, something to take her mind off Matt. I'll have to ask her if it works. Seems odd that she would choose to throw herself into Christmas- but then, maybe not. It was the only time we were all together as a family.

Dad's not coming round this year. I don't think he can cope with it.

I don't know if _I_ can cope with it.

Nobody's been allowed to play 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas' this year, either. I took myself by surprise when Mom put it in the CD player and I burst into tears. She didn't understand why at first, then I blubbered that it was what Matt used to play. And then she understood. What had been a small memory for her, she realised was a big memory for me. And she promised never to play it again. I said that never was too strong- that one day I would be able to listen to it, but that right now it was too powerful a memory for me.

I can hear her calling for me. I guess I'd better make an effort.

Although I could happily stay tucked up in bed for the whole day, presents or no.

I walk down the stairs. Relishing memories. There is no need to rush this year.

"Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas." I kiss my mother's cheek and she hugs me tightly. The smile on her face is as earnest as she can make it, but I know she doesn't really feel like smiling either.

I haven't seen a proper smile on her face in a month.

Is it really only that long ago?

He wasn't supposed to go out at all that day. He hadn't been feeling well, and it was icy cold outside. The ice didn't melt throughout the whole day. _Oh_, but it _did_- it became Black Ice- a layer of ice hidden under another, more slippery layer.

It's called Black Ice for a reason.

You can't see it.

He shouldn't have been driving at all.

He _shouldn't _have been driving at night.

He shouldn't have.

He shouldn't have crashed the car, he shouldn't have gone over, he shouldn't have _died_… All these 'shouldn't have's… They don't change anything. 'Shouldn't have' is still 'did'.

I think Mom is wondering where my mind has wandered off to. She looks concernedly at me. It isn't until I smile that she smiles back.

"Go into the front room. I'm just finishing off these pies for the oven. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Nah." I screw my nose up at the thought. Food doesn't seem to taste as good nowadays.

I enter the front room. The decorations for Christmas have been up for about a week. That was the soonest we could cope with them, and a few tears were still shed along the way. Nothing elaborate this year- just a few lanterns, and the tree.

Which I had to decorate alone. For the first time ever.

I wish I could get him out of my head. But he just doesn't want to leave me today.

I vaguely wonder what would have been done with his presents. It's an awful thought, but it just popped in there.

Mom always buys Christmas and Birthday up in advance. They're probably hidden in a box somewhere. With his other things.

I walk over to the chest of drawers by the window. From the top drawer, I take out a small, silvery thing, hoping my mom doesn't see it.

She doesn't like the way I carry it everywhere.

I put Matt's harmonica in my dressing gown pocket and sit down by the tree, sifting through presents.

There are about half as many here as normal.

Like me.

There's about half as much of me here as normal.

I sort out my presents from the other gifts under the tree and put the rest into small piles. Two other piles. One for Mom and one for Dad.

God, Matt, get out of my _head_.

I can't stop thinking about you.

How you lost control, how you would have been scared, terrified- even in pain.

How much it _hurts _to think like _this_.

I can't stand how much I want to scream and throw a fit because you're not here.

But that's not me.

So I continue sorting out the Christmas gifts into piles.

When I'm done, I put Dad's back under the tree. He'll come over in his own time. Maybe tomorrow or the day after, or next year, but when he's ready. He isn't coping too well without Matt either. But he'll just sit there, alone at home, all day today and think about him. Maybe get out photo albums. Maybe watch some camcorder footage. Either way he'll spend a lot of the day crying.

I shiver.

I wonder how long _I'll_ go without crying?

Mom enters the room, removing her oven mitts.

Not long.

I burst into tears.

Mom looks at me, concern etched into her face. I hear her voice, then feel her warm arms around me.

"TK? Takeru, what's wrong?"

Like she needed to ask.

"Why isn't he here, Momma!? Why isn't he here!?" I can hear myself screaming, and I can't believe I'm doing it. I promised myself I wouldn't…for Mom.

I can hear her voice falter, and can't bear to look up. I know I've made her cry.

"I don't know, baby… I wish I had an answer for you, I really do… Then I could sleep at night knowing why my other baby was taken from me…"

"I've…never _been _without him, I don't know what to _do_…" I sob. And I'm telling the truth. Matt was always there, even when he wasn't. That probably didn't make any sense. What I mean is, that he was always on the end of the phone, always a subway ride away. Now he's much further away than that. I can't _reach_ him where he is now.

Mom rocks me for a few minutes. Then I pull away.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Mom smiles wetly. "I'd rather you let it all out than bottle it all up."

"That's what Matt did, isn't it?" I find myself asking- knowing the answer but wanting to fill the void.

She nods.

I close my eyes and think back again.

* * *

I hung back as Mom answered the door. I saw her face drop as she opened it to two policemen.

I moved further back into the front room as I heard muffled words.

They wanted to come in, but Mom was insistent.

"I want to know what's happened. Now!" She yelled.

"I'm afraid…car accident…incident team…no survivors…"

I shivered. I couldn't hear all that was said. I couldn't believe anybody could be that unlucky. I knew it happened all over, but… The obvious thought didn't occur to me. I guess I'm too much of an optimist.

I heard Mom ask more hysterical questions and she began to cry. It was at this point that I walked up to her.

"Mom? Mom, what's wrong?" I asked, hearing the tense nervousness in my own voice.

"TK…" Mom sobbed, leading me away from the front door by my hand. I knew then something was horribly wrong. The door was still open, she hadn't bothered to shut it. The two policemen still stood there, looking a little uneasy.

"TK… It's…it's bad news, honey…"

"Who?" I asked, steeling myself, having picked up enough from the conversation to know what had happened, and to know by Mom's reaction it was somebody important. I remember praying in my head, _Not Dad or Matt, not Dad or Matt, not Dad or Matt…_ Other people mattered to me- mattered a lot, but I knew to evoke that kind of reaction in Mom it had to be somebody we were really close to.

_Not Dad or Matt, not Dad or Matt, not Dad or Matt…_

"TK, it's Matt…"

_Oh, God, no…_

"He's _gone_, baby…" My mother broke down and cried on the floor. I felt my face heat up and tears I couldn't control welled up in my eyes. I felt them stream, hot and wet, down my face.

The best I could come out with was:

"No…"

A few moments later:

"M-momma? There's gotta be a mistake…I-it can't be Matt, he _can't_ be _dead_!"

My mother just nodded, still sobbing.

I wandered on the spot for a moment, this more pain than I could bear- more pain than I had _ever_ had to bear before.

* * *

I open my eyes and look at my mother.

She's staring. I think she's worried.

"S'okay, Mom." I say, forcing the smallest of smiles.

She returns the favour.

She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then says,

"TK? There's something I want to tell you."

I laugh and sigh at the same time.

"I hope it's a good thing."

"I don't know. That's why I have to ask you about it."

I nod. She takes that as her cue to continue.

"Matt had…already bought some Christmas presents, before." She can't bear to say '_before he died_'. "One of the ones he'd bought…was…well, it was yours." I close my eyes, trying not to cry again. She takes my hand from my lap.

"Do you want to have it?"

"Yes." I said. I couldn't imagine not having it.

She strokes my hair.

"I'll get it."

She gets up and walks out of the room. I'm alone in it again.

We're always alone in our apartment. It's just me and Mom here, unless one of us has friends over. But today is all wrong. We _shouldn't _be alone today.

That '_shouldn't_' word again.

I hate that word.

Mom walks back in, carrying a small box. It isn't wrapped- Matt wouldn't have gotten around to that yet. That hardly matters. It's in a brown paper bag. On it is written my name, in Matt's handwriting. It weighs about the same as a CD in the box. I swallow- hard.

I think I know what it is.

I take it out of the bag; open the box. Inside is just what I suspected.

It's a harmonica. Just like Matt's.

He'd promised to teach me how to play.

I fight back tears again.

I don't know if I'll ever get over you, Matt. I wish you were here now…

I look up at the Christmas tree.

I just wish so much that you were here.

Wait a second…

Did…?

Did the angel…on the tree…?

Did it _always_ look like Matt?

_-fini-_

Thank you for reading to the end :) I hope I was able to provide you with some entertainment :)


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